


Slow Bone

by witblogi



Series: Suggestive is my Middle Name [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Scott is a Good Friend, Top Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witblogi/pseuds/witblogi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Derek isn’t me, dude. He doesn’t know that we only call it that because saying making love felt like saying we were ball-less in tenth grade. He thinks you’re making fun of him"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Bone

**Author's Note:**

> this all started many moons ago when I saw a logo for "SLOW BONE BBQ" snickering ensued

**Episode One: Slow Bone**

Stiles is in a haze of lengthly foreplay kisses and neck nuzzling. He feels warm, almost over hot with Derek’s body bearing down on his. He’s entirely ready to get this show on the road, the motion in the ocean, the -- yeah, he doesn’t have another one of those. He digs his fingers into Derek’s shoulders just a bit and pulls, squeezing his thighs and pulling up with his heels, it’s usually enough to get them going past the initial slow burn, but this time Derek resists. 

He ignores Stiles’ non-verbal cues and continues his leisurely pace of thrust and grind. It’s good, it’s _great_ really, makes all sorts of little sparks go off behind his eyes when Derek grinds just right, but at the same time, Stiles is kind of waiting for the punchline. He’s not good at teasing, years of chronic frantic masturbation whenever the mood struck will do that to a guy. But Derek knows that, he knows Stiles is impatient and his mind needs distraction, or else they’re _here_ and he starts over thinking everything, the pace of his breathing, and the croak of springs in Derek’s mattress. 

“C’mon,” he sighs into the next kiss, wrapping his arms even more tightly around Derek’s shoulders, stroking the edge of one of his ears. 

Derek makes a pleased lethargic noise in the back of his throat, and pulls back to place another kiss just at the corner of his mouth, then another further back over his cheek. The scrape of his stubble is just spine tingling enough that Stiles forgets what he was supposed to be complaining about for a moment and relaxes into the pillows. Derek’s behind his ear now nosing lightly at the soft skin there. Stiles lets his eyes slip closed and practically purrs in contentment. 

The pattern Derek is following is starting to become a familiar one, lips brushing over every little brown fleck of a mole on his face. It’s nice, kind of like being appreciated, _worshiped_ maybe -

He snaps his eyes open, his abrupt movement rippling through the rest of his body causing Derek to pull back and survey him with concern. 

“You okay?” He gives a lazy roll of his hips and Stiles bites his lip in realization. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Yeah, no, it’s fine, I was just a little late to get the memo, I didn’t know you -- _we_ did this.” he pets Derek’s skin under his palms because he can, sliding them up and down over his sides. 

“Did what?” Derek leans back into him, lipping at his chin. 

“The _slooooooow_ bone.” he says lowly. It only takes a moment for Derek to halt, face hidden in Stiles’ neck. “It’s good though?” Stiles adds unsurely, only getting a heavy puff of breath over his collar for an answer. 

“You don’t want to do this.” Derek finally pushes back, further from Stiles than he has been in half an hour, looking shuttered. Stiles fights off a shiver and clutches at Derek’s arms. 

“No! I do! I do it’s fine, I wasn’t sure at first like, ‘where’s the wham bam, ma’am?’, but it’s fine everything is okay here, we are on the same page now. Ready to slow bone.” He tries a reassuring grin but Derek’s expression only falls further. 

“Does everything have to be a joke to you?” He slides away completely. Stiles feels cold and incomplete for an uncomfortable moment while Derek pushes the sheets, the comforter back -- Jesus how did Stiles not connect the dots; they were having unhurried sex with the lights off under the covers.

“It’s not a joke!” He sits up awkwardly, feeling messy with cooling lube while Derek slips off the bed and stalks to the bathroom, firmly shutting the door behind him. The swift bang and clank of the pipes as Derek demands hot water comes through the thin little door to where Stiles is perched. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but eventually Stiles manages to get some tissues and roll himself to the side of the bed where he could scooch off without leaving gross snail-y trails all over everything (he seriously doesn’t have the time or patience to change sheets every single day this is a no come, no lube zone, thank you very much).

By the time he feels half way human again after a little clean up and finding his boxers to tug on over his flagging erection - to be properly mourned and resurrected as soon as possible - the noises in the bathroom have stopped entirely. Stiles knows Derek likes to sulk, likes to hold passive aggressive little grudges and refuse to talk about what’s bothering him until he’s practically roaring about Stiles forgetting to pick up milk after he’d finished the last off again. It’s a thing, they’re working on it.

He knocks softly at the door, honestly unsure how to salvage the situation and not just make it worse. 

“Are you okay?” He asks folding his arms around his bare torso. There’s a suspicious sound behind the door that Stiles could almost swear was a huff. 

“Fine. I-” Derek grits out, “I want to be alone.” 

“Okay. Alone. Everyone needs some me time sometimes. Good for the mind and whatever, flying solo, you yourself and Derek, numero uno-”

“Stiles.” It sounds like he’s sitting on the lip of the tub, voice echoing slightly beyond the door. Stiles wants to argue about this, to ask what’s Derek’s freaking problem but the tone of his voice isn’t his regular pissed off Alpha. He sounded tired, _hurt_.

“Right, I’ll just-” he makes shooing motions but realizes it’s kind of pointless and drops his hands to turn to survey the room at large. 

It’s Derek’s place, a loft with exposed brick and wrought iron, it’s supposed to be trendy, but Derek never really got the hang of decorating with over large letters that say _LOVE LAUGH LEARN_ , so it mostly just looks kind of half finished. It’s also drafty as fuck, so Stiles doesn’t waste time wrestling back into his clothes, following the trail of them down the spiral stairs. 

Once he’s re-assembled his socks and shoes, there’s really no reason to go back upstairs; besides Derek said he wanted to be left alone. So with a little confusion and new churn of dread in the pit of his stomach, he gathers up his keys and his hoodie, knowing for a fact Derek can hear the jingle of them, knows exactly how many steps it is from the knick-knack bowl (mostly just full of condoms, spare keys, chap stick, and anything small and wolf related Stiles can get his hands on) to the entry way. 

He spares one last look over his shoulder at where the stairs disappear into the second floor and then pulls the door open, and leaves. 

**Episode Two: The Slow Bone Strikes Back**

Derek is incommunicado for the next twenty four hours, not that Stiles obsessively checks and re-checks his phone or anything. He knows Derek needs time, or whatever, maybe he’s giving _Stiles_ time to realize whatever it was that went wrong so he can go properly groveling for forgiveness. He has to admit, in high school whenever he imagined his inevitable screw-ups with his future significant other it was usually bowing down to wickedly tiny, Louboutin adorned feet; not Derek's scuffed sneakers. 

But he’s not going to go groveling, he didn’t _do_ anything wrong. He was fine with everything 100% A-OK, and then Derek was running off in a cloud of hurt feelings. It doesn’t make it easier though, Stiles doesn’t _like_ being the bad guy okay, _even though he totally isn’t_ , Derek is just sensitive or embarrassed or something that he needs to get over ASAP because seriously? Stiles lets him put his penis in places penises are not recommended to go, they should be able to communicate what’s bothering them without dramatically exiting stage right.

To pass the time he mostly bitches about the whole thing to Scott from the relative comfort of his dad’s sofa and hands free. They’re playing Mario Kart online with each other, Scott in his own apartment, still finishing up his exams in Santa Monica.

“Derek’s a butthole, man.” Scott says like it’s a fact of life, like Stiles should have known that going into the tangle they called a relationship. He _did_ know that in fact, Scott himself had reminded Stiles of it daily in the early days, but then it only made Stiles think about Derek’s butthole and...well. 

Stiles mashes his buttons viciously, willing Waluigi into flinging banana peels like so much monkey feces. 

“Dude it wasn’t even _his_ butthole, it was mine, being slow boned without _any warning_. If anyone has the right to spontaneously not be okay with where things are going it’s me.” he blurts in a flurry of frustration, watching Scott effortlessly guiding his kart past the finish line a lap ahead. Stiles never thought he’d have this much spite built up for something as cute as Toadstool before. 

“Augh! I’m going to need to rinse my brain in bleach for that _way_ too detailed description of what happened.” He makes some more disgusted retching noises while Stiles tosses his remote aside and flops bonelessly into the cushions. 

“I’m not saying sorry,” Stiles tells him needlessly and Scott sighs. 

“I know man, just, he was slow boning? Are you sure? It wasn’t going anywhere else or anything?” Scott sounds serious actually, awkward and uncomfortable, but serious. 

“Yeah, I-” Stiles swallows lowly, “It was definitely...It meant something. There was like butterfly kisses and making moles into constellations and stuff.” 

Scott makes a tiny disgusted noise, but sighs into the phone, “Well it sounds like a slow bone. That’s pretty serious man, I didn’t know you guys were like having feelings.” 

“I-” Stiles doesn’t know what to say, he hadn’t really been thinking about it, he and Derek have just been a thing, were still a thing when he was at school, and when he came back, Derek was there, waiting. He knows that means something to both of them, that it’s important, but there are no definite terms or agreements in their arrangement. 

He wants to _talk_ about it. That’s the problem apparently. 

“I thought so?” He sighs impatiently, “But apparently Derek doesn’t want to acknowledge it at all. All I did was mention that hey, look, slow boning that’s new, and suddenly he’s brooding on the moors.”

Scott’s silence is deafening. 

“What, dude, _what?_ ” Stiles snaps impatiently, he’s tired of silence. 

“Did...you actually say you were slow boning?” Scott asks hesitantly and Stiles makes the most impatient of noises. 

“ _Yes!_ I already told you that.” 

“You used the words: slow bone.” Scott is speaking extra slow, and yes Stiles did this enough to him in highschool when he was a little slow on the uptake but this is not the time for payback. 

“...Yes?” 

“Stiles,” Scott sighs hopelessly, “Derek isn’t me, dude. He doesn’t know that we only call it that because saying _making love_ felt like saying we were ball-less in tenth grade. He thinks you’re making fun of him.” 

“It feels like a lack of balls always, Scott, always. The only reason girls can say it is because they don’t have balls. Except Lydia, and she’d probably say it with enough conviction and venom to make hair grow on your chest-” 

“Focus Stiles.” 

“I know what you said, but you’re wrong. Derek knows I wasn’t making fun of him, I’m never actually _making fun of him_. I tease him sometimes, but not about that, I was totally sincere!” He tosses his controller aside and fiddles with his phone in his lap instead.

“This is where your entire reputation as having nothing but sarcasm as a defense kind of becomes your downfall, bro.” 

He could protest but doesn’t even know where to begin, and besides Scott is quickly disconnecting their game and saying he needs to get back to work, but that Stiles should think about what he said. 

“I know you don’t want to, but maybe you do have a reason to apologize,” he hangs up shortly after that and Stiles leans his head back on the couch. Derek knows the difference between his sincere and sarcastic, right? 

**Episode Three: The Return of the Slow Bone**

Stiles sighs, tamping down on another wave of humiliation. Derek already knows he’s standing on his door step, deliberating over knocking, he can hear the nervous thudding of Stiles’ heart. He can also probably hear the rustle of his jacket against the buttons of his shirt and smell the flowers (gardenias) clenched in his hands. Never let it be said that Stiles doesn’t know how to pull out all the corny stops to apologize to his corny significant other. 

It had taken him a while, a long while to get to this point; thinking over what Scott had pointed out, remembering that Scott was the one who’d successfully dated enough people that he had actual valuable _advice_ and stuff. Sometimes Stiles wonders when Scott became an adult and left him standing in he dust, wearing an ill fitting suit jacket and hoping some slightly ugly flowers would woo a werewolf. 

He sighs again and rolls his shoulders, dropping his hands away from each other, this is stupid, ridiculous stupid - 

“Are you going to knock eventually or can I go to the gym?” The way Derek wrenches the door open leaves Stiles a little dumbfounded, offering the flowers a beat too late, feeling 1000% more ridiculous in his jacket and tie while Derek is wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt at least two sizes too small. His eyebrows are at their Casually Murderous angle and Stiles has never been so happy to see that particular expression before. 

“You can skip the gym for one day.” Stiles smiles brightly at him, offering the flowers even more firmly as Derek glares at them like they’re actually emitting a perfume similar to sewage. 

“Why are you here Stiles?”

“It has been brought to my attention that perhaps I didn’t handle the _situation_ the other night with the appropriate amount of ... _delicacy_.” He can feel the beginnings of sweat beading on his lip and that’s pretty stupid. This is Derek, eviscerate you in one swipe but really just loves getting his belly rubbed Derek who stopped being scary like three years ago.

Derek gives him a beat or ten of blankness, somehow shouting _no shiiiiiit_ even louder than the hardest eye rolls ever could. 

“No, but before you slam the door in my face and go back to brooding or -” 

“Going to the _gym_. I don’t just hang out swirling around from shadow to shadow like you seem to think-” 

“WHATEVER it is you do.” Stiles gives him a pointed look not to ruin the illusion of his apology again, “I would like to take this moment to sincerely apologize for the misunderstanding that went down between us...up there,” he nods his head up in the direction of the second floor, “down _there_ ,” he gives another nod towards their respective groins. 

“Misunderstanding.” Derek says flatly, clearly he was expecting an apology for what Stiles said. 

“Yes, see-” he’s about to launch into a detailed description of the way ones balls can curl back into their own body when confronted with the idea of emotions at a tender pubescent age, when another tenant gives them a wary eye as she passes him on the landing to continue up the stairs. 

“-Can I come inside?” he asks lamely instead giving a small fist pump after Derek rolls his eyes and swipes the flowers from Stiles’ fist, stalking back inside and leaving the door gaping open. Derek is in the corner of the loft that’s designated for kitchen use, rummaging around in the cupboard above the refrigerator, standing on his toes, shirt riding up along his abdomen. 

“You were trying to get out of an apology.” he reminded Stiles, rocking back onto his heels, newly acquired ugly blue vase in hand. Stiles thinks perhaps it was a gift from Isaac but can’t decide. 

“I’m not getting out of it, I’m apologizing, but not for what I said.” 

Derek hums tightly, flicking on the tap too hard, making it thunk and recoil.

“Right, there was some kind of misunderstanding where I was in an alternate universe and you didn’t completely mock me.” he thrusts the vase under the tap, glaring at Stiles over his shoulder

“No. No no, that, right there, misunderstanding.” Stiles jumps forward pointing excitedly, “Not mocking.” 

“Right okay then what was it, Stiles, because from where I was, it sure sounded a lot like mocking.” he shuts the tap off just as violently and tears the paper away from the flowers. 

“Ha, okay, this is a funny story really.” Stiles assured him, “We’re going to laugh about this later.” he swallows roughly, knowing he really only has one shot to explain this without making everything just sound worse. 

Derek puts the flowers in the vase, sets it on the small round kitchen table and leans back again the counter in front of the sink. He folds his arms across his chest and gives Stiles the skeptical _go on_ eyebrow. 

“It’s Scott’s fault.” he blurts and winces when Derek’s look grows darker, “No, that’s not-” Stiles lets his breath out in one whoosh. 

“When we were like, fifteen, Scott and I called,” He rolls his hand in a manner to indicate the circumstances they find themselves in, “Slow Boning to prevent ourselves the embarrassment of having to talk about feelings seriously.” He pauses to let the information sink in and Derek doesn’t look any less angry and confused. 

“And you’re still using it because it was a really classy way to add to the moment?” 

“Well it just kind of-” He makes a sliding hand motion to indicate its slipping into the conversation, “I didn’t realize you’d take it so badly. I didn’t realize I’d even said anything _wrong_.” 

“ _That_ was obvious.” Derek lifts a shoulder, mouth pinched in a way that looks like he’s either going to crack a smile or maybe if driven far enough, burst into tears. 

“Listen, I’m just sorry you thought I wasn’t into it, or serious or _whatever_ , okay?” Stiles sighs feeling the tension leech out of him, all the had to say is now out in the open. Derek doesn’t look at Stiles but tips his head back and loosens his arms from their fold, pushing himself away from the sink. 

“Yeah, fine, forget it.” he ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it attractively as he passes Stiles for the living room. He tags the flowers as he walks past them, it’d probably look like nothing to anyone else, but Stiles knows they way they bobbed only released more of their sweet smell into the air for delicate werewolf noses. 

“You do know that there’s no pin in this issue right? We’re allowed to try and do it again, in-fact, i encourage us to do it many, many times.” Stiles trails after Derek watching him pause and lean threateningly- attractively- no threateningly again the back of the sofa. 

“Is that so?” He lifts an eyebrow again, and hell if that isn’t an engraved invitation.

Stiles wastes no time in shimmying into his space, pressing their chests together, threading his arms under Derek’s and humming happily. 

“Definitely, we’ll do this right, candles, rose petals, Adele crooning softly from an iPod dock, oh yeah you’re getting the whole deal. Romance city, population: Derek.” He nibbles at the stubble on Derek’s chin until Derek nibbles back. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” He inhales against Stiles’ pulse, running his hands over his shoulders, snagging his nicely pressed blazer and sliding it down Stiles’ arms. 

“Shhh, it doesn’t matter any more, baby, we’re in full dimmer switch, bubble bath territory here.” Stiles croons, tugging at Derek’s thread bare shirt, it’s soft and gives slightly under his grip. 

“I don’t know why I continually want to see you naked.” Derek sighs, leaning back to prevent Stiles from damaging his shirt, instead sweeping it over his own head with one tug to the back of the neck. 

“We can continue whispering sweet nothings to each other in the bedroom, but we definitely cannot make torrid passionate love on the hall floor. Upstairs.” Stiles tugs on his hand once he’s dropped his shirt, leading him towards the stairs. 

“I beg to differ.” Derek mutters but follows anyway, rolling his eyes when Stiles bats his eyelashes at him over his shoulder as they climb, “You’re _sure_ you’re not mocking me.” 

“Utterly. This is heartfelt, can’t you feel my heart?” Stiles leers at him once they reach the top of the stairs. Derek crowds into his space this time, knocking their hips and noses together. 

“I can feel _something_.” he smiles, all predatory intent, only for Stiles to snort and drop his head to Derek’s shoulder, shaking with laughter. 

“Okay _now_ who’s using major cheese-ball lines?” 

“You started it.” Derek says as he disentangles them, leaving Stiles to duck into the bedroom unaccompanied. Stiles bounces in a moment later, spreading himself across the bed in what could only be interpreted as a seductive pose. He watches Derek survey him, flicking his belt open lazily, arms rippling slightly at the movement. 

The drop in conversation plunged the mood in the room straight past playful foreplay and into something lusty and slow. Shivers roll down Stiles’ spine as he watches the impromptu strip, he can only imagine the momentary press of warm hands on him through his shirt, fiddling with the long line of buttons from clavicle to pelvis. 

Derek’s gaze never wavers from his face, stepping out of his jeans to kneel upon the end of the bed, looming over him with intent. Stiles swallows, no one should look that threatening in their underpants. 

“M-my what big eyes you have.” he tries weakly, dropping back into his shoulders from his elbows when Derek presses down on his sternum. 

“No more jokes,” he murmurs, the warmth of his thighs starting to soak through Stiles’ pants where they slotted together. 

“God,” he whispers, “Okay.” He exhales shakily, feeling exactly the press of those fingers he’d imagined earlier, working his shirt off, parting each side to expose the pale flesh of his chest. 

This was nothing they hadn’t done before, sex was sex was Derek sucking marks on his collar and nosing into his chest hair, but this time everything felt heavy with intent. It was like walking through water, no mater how fast you tried, you were still wading, partially floating, surrounded in a density that held you back and pushed you up. 

Apparently having sex with feelings made everyone into a poet. 

At some point he’d grasped into Derek’s hair, Stiles’ watch catching on his ear, shirt hopelessly wrinkled around his elbows. 

Derek leans back, straddling Stiles’ thigh and looks down at him with dark eyes. 

“Take those off.” he flicks his gaze toward’s Stiles arms and then re-directed his attention towards their hips, reaching for Stiles’ fly with purpose. 

“Can do, yes, getting rid of these-” he fumbles at the clasp of his watch, half sitting up to also try and wriggle out of his shirt. Derek huffs a laugh, riding out Stiles’ bucking until he got a chance to pin his hips, smoothing his hands over the trapped erection there with purpose. 

Stiles makes a noise he’s not proud of, mostly because it sounds a little like a constipated cat and that’s seriously unsexy, and jerks awkwardly under Derek, falling back on his elbows, shirt half off, watch loose and dangling. 

“Warn a guy.”

Derek just grins at him, sly and a little goofy with his stupid uneven teeth, unbuttoning and zipping the fly beneath his hands with quick efficient movements. 

It’s clear from where he’s leaning, Stiles isn’t the only one interested in these circumstances. Derek’s cock is at least half there in his ridiculous painted on mockery of sensible underwear. They make his checkered boxers seem positively frumpy, not that it matters for long when Derek is taking advantage of their soft give and sliding them right off his hips along with his trousers.

Now he’s got all his clothes bunched around his knees and his elbows and his upper lip is definitely feeling a little perspiration even as the cool air of Derek’s aforementioned drafty-as-fuck loft tickles over his belly. 

Then there are hands running over his sides, ribs and flanks, while he flops down and reaches over his head to place his watch on the nightstand and maybe snag the lube while he’s at it. Derek inhales like he’s going to say something and Stiles presses the tube of lube against his lips before he can manage it. 

“If you tell me I’m beautiful-” Derek bats his hand away.

“You’ll take the compliment graciously.” He warns leaning in for their first kiss on the mouth in what feels like ages. It’s exactly the warmth Stiles needs at the moment, slow and snug, Derek’s body slowly melting down into his until they’re mindlessly mouthing at each other’s jaws and rocking their hips together with growing intent. It’s only when he tries to wrap his arms more fully around Derek’s shoulders that he’s reminded of the awkward tangle of his shirt under him and makes a distressed noise. 

Derek leans back, eyes dark and lips bruised, he looks edible and Stiles gurgles for a moment trying to remember what was his _problem_. His awkward t-rex arm wobbles in the air and he looks at it for guidance. Derek surveys it as well and then smiles softly. 

“Little help?” he asks meekly allowing himself to be manhandled out of his clothes, kicking his pants off while he has the chance, and Derek is distracted with unwrapping his own junk from those illegal underwear. It’s totally unfair, he _knows_ that’s Stiles’ favourite part of the disrobing process, and he quickly knocks Derek’s hands aside, skimming the stretchy material over warm thighs himself. He leans in greedily, jostling elbows against knees and ignoring Derek’s tickled huff of a laugh to kiss and nibble and worry at the already fading red indents along Derek’s hips where the elastic of his model undies cut into his flesh. 

Muscles and tendons and _strength_ shifts under his lips as Derek squirms into and away from his touch. He tickles his fingertips into the hollows that form in Derek’s ass when he flexes upwards and enjoys the wrenching groan from above as he breathes wide mouthed and hot agains the plane just under his navel. 

But then he’s being hauled back by the shoulders and dragged up to meet eager lips over an enticingly curled abdomen. 

“I was just getting to the good part.” He complains half heartedly but Derek just catches his face between two palms, smoothing his thumbs over the apples of Stiles’ cheeks, leaning in to kiss him again, fleeting, stubbly. 

“Not this time. We’re doing this slow remember?” 

“Right.” Stiles goes pliant against him, pushing him back into the bed and then allowing himself to be cuddled for just a moment - because it’s nice, so sue him - before rolling his hips pointedly dragging his cock along that beautiful groove along one side of Derek’s pelvis. Stiles has written odes to those grooves, spoken to them affectionately, stroked sonnets into them with his precome and they’re no less than perfection this time too. 

While he’s nice and distractedly content, Derek rolls them onto their sides, probably in order to reach the lube. Stiles doesn’t really care, there’s still flesh to rub against and shoulders to grip and a neck to playfully bite just to watch the way Derek’s whole body stutters in reaction. 

But then his leg is being hiked high over Derek’s hip pressing them even closer together lip to groin. It’s electric and intimate and he starts when fingers cool with lube circle asshole delicately. 

“What?” he asks in slurry half-lidded surprise, “Like this?” he squeezes the leg tucked around Derek’s body, nudging his toes into a furry back of a thigh. Derek leans in to bite his bottom lip, tugging at it when Stiles leans up, smudging their noses against each other, and making a general mess of a kiss. It’s hot though, so he can’t really be bothered to try and finesse it into something for polite audiences. 

“ _Just_ -” the finger stops circling and starts pressing inward, “-like this.” Derek’s voice is firm, low in the way it doesn’t get unless he’s trying to out-predator someone. Instead of finding it campy and ridiculous like usual, Stiles just shudders at the sound, and clamps one hand around the nape of Derek’s neck, re-engaging their deeply in-tune with each other’s minds - like seriously brain twins - tongue fucking. 

Derek’s hand doesn’t stop at all with his ass however, merely firmly works him open, one finger then two. His arm is curled around him in a way that seems like maybe it could be uncomfortable, but actually is probably pretty easy, his wrist snuggled up to Stiles’ balls elbow held relaxed at his side. 

When the third finger is working its way in, and his lips are blissfully tingly he finally pulls back just to look at Derek, the way the green of his eyes is almost entirely swallowed by pupil, how the whorls in his beard catch the light and the way sweat is beginning to dot his perfectly attractive brow. 

“If you can’t fit an entire Volkswagen Beetle back there by now, I’d be surprised.” He breathes out meaning it to be more playful and sexy than it actually sounds, and he worries for a fleeting moment that he’s ruined everything once again. 

Derek laughs roughly, taking the hint to slowly withdraw his fingers and move on to the main event. 

“I don’t know.” he drawls, leaning back and away for a moment to snag a condom off the nightstand, Stiles takes the moment to cling and nibble at the thick muscles in his shoulders, “I’m more of a mid-sized and sport utility man myself.” 

“Lies and slander,” Stiles hisses while Derek tears open the packaging and tosses it, making quick work of rolling on the sheath, “If that were the case, we’d have had so much more car sex by now.” He breathes out as Derek rolls his hips forward, nudging the head of his dick into and then past the initial resistance of Stiles’ hole. 

They pause and kiss, rolling fully horizontal; Stiles sliding his other leg up to twine with the first around Derek’s back, 

“And don’t think I didn’t catch you comparing your lil-D to an SUV.” he drags his fingers through Derek’s hair, watching him tip his head into the affection, turning to kiss at Stiles’ wrist and beginning to roll his hips. 

“Please don’t call my dick ‘Lil-D’.” Derek drags his nose up Stiles’ neck, palming his ass and pulling them even closer together if possible. 

“Right, from here on out, no jokes, only sweet lovin’,” He murmurs, tipping his head back and lifting his hips to meet the next thrust in the middle. 

“ _Stiles._ ” it might have been a groan of pleasure or annoyance, it’s debatable. 

“Shh, just fuck me with your feelings already.” 

It’s not fast at all. It’s slow, methodical, but Stiles has to give Derek props for knowing just when to change the angle or the pace just enough to keep it interesting, keep his mind from wandering too far away from them. He’s even present enough to shift Stiles’ legs every so often working the blood back into his feet with strong fingers stroking over tensed thighs. 

It was beautiful. It was frustrating as fuck.

Eventually the throbbing in his cock grew distracting enough with the teasing scrapes of Derek’s frustratingly flat abdomen that he had to work a hand down to circle it. As always, once he started jerking there was a finite amount of time before the toe curling finale, and luckily Derek seemed to have it memorized. The hitch and roll of his hips picked up, working their orgasms up together like two mirrored graphs you know the ones - with the curves - and the - lines and-

“Sti-” Derek was clutching at his shoulders too hard, the fatigue of their bodies momentarily forgotten. 

“Don’t say anything right _now_!” Stiles barked a laugh, people screaming each other’s names when the came was hilarious. At that he choked on another laugh it coming out more like a warbling groan as he came hot and tight, striping his cock furiously. 

Derek followed in quick order, hips finally snapping hard enough to rock the bed as he panted into Stiles’ neck, their hearts hammering in time. 

They lay sprawled together in a messy pile after, Stiles flinging his aching legs out, Derek rolling onto his thigh for an uncomfortable moment when they finally separated. Stiles finally managed to work his non-sticky hand into action, threading his fingers though the now wild strands of hair at Derek’s crown.

“I love you.” he sighed. If there was a moment for the big L bomb, this was it. Derek turned his head to look at Stiles with lazy contentedness, mouth soft and red. 

“I know.” 

A beat.

“Oh my god, did you just Han Solo me in bed? I think I might swoon.”


End file.
